Jerry H. Twomey, Writer, Born 1960, educated by the Christian Brothers in Youghal. Traveled extensively, lived and worked abroad in France, Holland and in London. He lives in Cork City now. He has been writing since school when his friend Tom asked him to write a ballad for him. The Ballad of Tom was torn from the blue lined copybook of cruel and careless beauty, balled up and thrown at the teacher’s back while the white chalk stick squealed at the black board. This is what poems are for…

Category: Poems

Jeremiah’s Journal August September 2017 The house is done, done and dusted. Like any project you’ve been hard at work on for so long even meals had become an inconvenient chore, you miss it when it’s gone. You have to trust your instincts, you have to know when you’re finished, …

The station master is being ever so discreet But I have my suspicions and I can sense Something seditious, in a room as neat as His happens to be looking, now apparently He is putting all the accessories back, in The presentation box, even rolling up The track and the …

October is mild, the sun unexpected, Shortening the hard winter for us, Yet, your father in the yard, With the homemade hatchet Breaks pallets. Hop, hop, hop out of the bed And throw back the blankets, You would always be afraid The head would fly off of The hatchet. They …